"You're going to throw a minion I can't stand, into the Shark Tank?"
"Do you see that down there?"
"Looks like a flagpole."
"It is."
"What the hell kind of flag is that?"
"That's what I wanted to show you."
The hopper landed so very slowly, more like a spacecraft, docking. Suddenly it fired pitons that drilled themselves in, deeper. The hopper reeled itself to the surface, dust puffing up from under it. The two men climbed out, tethered to bright orange safety lines.
"The American flag was up here, and had been so since the facility was opened. One week ago, some people came from the Pathfinder Institute - security staff. They didn't stay for very long, but one thing they took the time to do, was to come out here and take down the flag."
"This new one, it's got your logo on it."
"It looks very similar, yes. But it is still quite distinct. I took the liberty of trying to match it against any other logos, corporate or otherwise. It matches nothing, Agent Stockwell. If it's for another one of my patron’s companies, it is one that has never been registered."
"You don't think it's your new flag and no one has told you yet?"
"Oh it's certainly our new flag, but I don't think it's for the program. Flags are powerful things. We are far away from Earth, Agent. A flag could mean all kinds of things. I thought you would like to see this."
"Thank you, I very much do."
"How closely have you looked at Lowell City?"
"Lowell City? The Mars program you guys are adding on to your to-do list?"
"That's the one. It's a very ambitious vision, Tops as ambitious if not more so than going to Alpha Centauri."
"So what concerns you about it?"
"It doesn't add up."
"The accounting?"
"Any of it. The program director was less qualified than any other candidate applying for the position. Yet, he asked for significantly more compensation than any of them. He is not a scientist, he is a lawyer. A lawyer with direct links to the head of Sun Star Legal, Mr. Snyder."
"Go on."
"I have gone over every document produced concerning the Lowell City program. There is a great deal concerning exercises at Devon Island, in Canada."
"Devon Island?"
"It's a desert island, that's freezing cold. It has been used for decades In connection with Mars settlement exercises and experiments. It's where the first Martian astronauts were trained. Equipment for colonist candidate training has already been purchased. They've begun building the first facilities for observation and research. Candidate interviews are being conducted as we speak."
"Sounds pretty serious," said Stockwell.
"That part is serious, yes. But you would think that all the parts would be serious, as well. In particular anything that would suggest that the people involved are actually interested in going to Mars."
"I don't get you."
"Agent, there is nothing, not a position paper - not a vision statement - not a poem scribbled into a margin - that suggest that anyone involved with Lowell City, is actually interested in Mars. They only seem interested in exercises that could apply to the colonization of any world. Agent, I believe the entire program is insincere."
"Look that's not my bailiwick, but a little birdie walked into the FBI and told us just the same thing."
"Who?"
Not sure that I can say. But if I could say, I would say Anjana Shetty of the UNHCR is someone you should talk to." He looked about the walls and clear canopy of the hopper. "And you definitely want to make sure no one is listening in on that conversation."
"Dr. Henrikson? What can I do for you? Not every day I get a call from Paul Dirac City."
Snyder sat up in bed, The large wall-mounted screen had turned video relay. Framed within it at 8K resolution Was an unsmiling scientist.
"Thank you for taking my call," he cleared his throat. " There's something I very much need to talk to you about."
"Are you sure it can't wait till morning? I think it's late even in your time zone."
"Let's just do it now."
Snyder farted and scratched his nose. "Alright, what's so urgent?"
"I'd like us to talk about Lowell City."
"Oh my God," Snyder facepalmed. "Seriously? Look, you're working too hard. We can talk about this tomorrow, all you like. But right now, I need to get back to bed."
"I know about the conversation you had with Anjana Shetty."
Snyder froze.
"Oh yeah? And what would that be?"
"That Lowell City was a complete lie, and that you would cancel it as soon as you got what you wanted for Pathfinder."
Snyder said nothing.
"Well?"
"You got me, that's exactly what I said. I don't even care if you're recording this conversation. All that matters now, is what are you going to do, Doctor?"
"Excuse me?"
"Are you going to tell the world?" Snyder threw his arms open, taking in all of space and time. "Because I'm certain they would listen to you. You are after all, the lead engineer on the famous and inspiring Pathfinder program. The program which will come to an end - along with many other things - if you open your mouth."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Oh no, you're threatening yourself. How are things over at ESA? Much of a market for someone with your skills? How about the kind of work you doing - any policymakers interested in going to another star?" Snyder smirked and reached for his shirt. "No one asked you to get involved in these bits and pieces, Doctor Henrikson. You never had to get your hands dirty. Ever! But if you torpedo what we're doing, if you destroy the reputation and goodwill that Mister Spektorov has built with the Mars Community, if you embarrass our allies and supporters - well then. Do you want to be that guy?"
The face in the 8K screen said nothing.
"Go on, sleep on it. Don't rush into this. Let your morality have its day in court, in your own head. And then maybe, the rest of us can have a day in court! Or maybe we won't. The decision is up to you. Now, is there anything else?"
"You can't get away with doing this."
"You know, this ship may fly. Or maybe it won't! Maybe it will explode and some more horrible antimatter explosion. I can't really say either way, and neither can you. We'll find out. But there is one thing I can definitely say. You know what that is? I can definitely say that I'm going to get away with this. Goodnight Doctor."
He killed the screen.
Suyin Lee, IV
Type 055 Destroyer, "Nanjiao," Gulf of Aden
"Just how," said Meng through his safety mask, "is everything covered in this slime?"
He tried shaking the data drive clean, but the black slurry just clung like honey. It was all over his hazmat suit, like he had been playing in the mud. The rest of the military forensics team appeared the same. They made their way through the hangar, tablets and UV lamps in hand, between the neat rows of black-slimed artifacts. They could have been archaeologists of Pompeii-of-the-sewers.
"Have you been able to learn anything new?" Asked Suyin, her arms folded. She too wore a protective mask.
"The intel that Abdul Kareem escaped to Pakistan, is most likely correct. Whatever caustic agent was used, wasn't strong enough to destroy all biological evidence. We've been able to identify twelve different people from their DNA. Abdul Kareem is not one of them."
"Have you any idea what that stuff is?"
"The data recovery team think it might be a special kind of weapon the terrorists were developing."
"A weaponized slime?"
"The slime is what it left behind. They think it was some sort of crude, self-replicating, nano system or machine. A catabolite, an eater. Perhaps sprayed as a liquid or gas. They might have used it to help knock out the drones once those entered the base. That, or just to destroy evidence."
"Nanomachines did this? Isn't that - "
"WMD? In principle, but it has a long way to go to earn that ti
tle. We’re still recovering data, but it may be connected with a cell of Xinjiang Moslems. Up in the UNHCR orbital, E2."
"E2? What are they working on there?"
"We think a slime weapons test."
"Let me know as soon as you can confirm that. E2 has a lot of troublesome elements, I hunted down a cell there, once. I know a few good informants. If Jemaat is active on E2, I’ll go and shut them down myself."
"Yes Madam," Meng set aside the data drive. "There's something else we learned. They are after Lakshmi Rao, head of the UNHCR. It was them who attacked her convoy in Sudan."
"My brother was in that attack. Why do they want to kill Rao?"
"We don't know yet, maybe we’ll recover than info, too. Hiding out in Pakistan will certainly help them finish the job."
Suyin nodded. "We'll have to tell the Indians."
"Don't you mean, the ISI?"
"We can't delegate this to a third party, even the Americans didn’t finish the job. And we especially can’t delegate this to the ISI."
"Maybe the Americans rewarded us for leaving Agent Stockwell behind in Colombo."
Lee darkened.
"My apologies, Lieutentant Colonel. I meant no disrespect."
"No, that’s alright Meng. I’m not proud of what happened there. And I am never abandoning a comrade, again."
"Yes Madam. Why can’t we work with the ISI though? We’re allied with Pakistan."
"That doesn’t mean anything to them. The US was allied with Pakistan, and the ISI put up Bin Laden in a mansion. If Jemaat Ansar presents as anti-Indian, the ISI will help them. They may also encourage Jemaat Ansar’s little WMD program."
"Was that a pun?"
"We’ll have to go to Pakistan."
"Of course Madam," Meng replied. "Until the job is done."
"Don’t you have family there?"
"Yes Madam, a brother. He owns a restaurant in Karachi."
"My own brother just transferred there."
"The one who fought in Sudan?"
"The same."
"Maybe you can have a family reunion in my brother’s restaurant," Meng beamed at the idea.
"Yes, maybe. Or more likely, a minefield."
Abdul Kareem Al-Rashid, IV
Outside Quetta, Pakistan
"You have survived, and with most of your people. You did very well."
The old man sat on a stool outside the mud hut. He drank strong red tea, the glass looked thick enough to survive a firefight. On his head was a woolen Pakol hat, so popular next door in Afghanistan. His face showed as much geography and weathering as the mountains to the East.
Kareem's eyes teared in the cold. The mud huts were stale leftovers compared to the air-conditioned complex in Yemen. Solar panel plots were side-by-side with potatoes. They fed ancient, rust-stained water tanks on concrete stilts: potential energy batteries. The morning smelled of baking bread and biodiesel. Children walked back from fog collector sheets, buckets sloshing. Two sentries shared a cigarette, their rifles slung.
"I don't feel like I did well. We lost a lot of people. A lot of equipment, and especially notes. It is very difficult to pick up and restart after something like that. Some of my engineers say they will have to wait months before they have everything they need again."
"You think it is a failure because you have seen so little. I have been fighting since I was twelve years old. I have seen failure, and you do not look like it."
Kareem studied the horizon.
"It is strange, being in Pakistan."
"Strange to be right where the fight is?" The old man smiled. "Did you think it was one big war zone?"
"Not really. But it seems that way sometimes, from what we would hear."
"This has been a war zone for 75 years. Children grow up. People get married. They grow old and die. In my father's time, the wrecks we played in were Russian tanks. My sons played in American ones. The new wrecks are all Chinese."
"How you Pashtuns have managed is incredible."
"The gadgets your group gave ours have always been a big help. The medical printers, the solar-powered water condensers, the self-guiding bullet designs." He cleared his throat. "I am sorry for how it happened, but it is good for you and for your group to be out here. To be really fighting. Not making gadgets underground and answering emails."
Kareem frowned. "You didn’t think we were fighting?"
"No."
The two said nothing for a while, and watched the sunrise over the sand gray mountains.
"What will you do now?" Asked the old Jihadi.
"Up there," Kareem pointed at the sky. "We have a weapon. On the orbital station, E2."
"A bomb?"
"In a sense. More like a plague."
"Plagues are messy."
"That's why we don't want to unleash it down here. We used a simpler version in Yemen to help destroy the American drones. What we have in space can do so much more."
"You are going to trigger it?"
"Yes, I will. It is an important weapons test, and retaliation for America's attack on us. It will also be good for my people’s morale when we to take responsibility. The Americans will think twice about attacking us again, for fear we'll use it on them."
"It sounds like it is a quite a big bomb."
"It is, but it starts from the smallest of sand grains. Then it grows, making more and more of itself."
"Sand grains," he shook his head. "You do not want to look at your enemy’s face when you shoot him?"
"The Americans don't look at ours when they drop their bombs."
The Jihadi seemed to accept that.
"You and your people are always welcome here, stay as long as you like."
"Thank you. We may need to be here for some time."
"It will be good for your people, we can teach you a lot. How to fight. Different from how you have been doing all this time."
"Not like sitting underground and sending emails?"
"Yes, different from that."
"Today, I am going to be sending an email. Just one. Tomorrow, let us see what you have to say about how we fight."
Suyin Lee, V
"Glavnaya,"UNHCR Orbital E2, High Earth Orbit
"It’s like we're on a giant hamster wheel, with glass panes glued on either side. Wow. Why is there so much glass? I never got used to that, the last time."
Her boots crushed daisies with each step. She could not feel the spin, but she could see it. Outside through the hamlet-sized window, the Earth was spinning. Through the window opposite, the sun burned as hard as summer.
"The spinning still bothers me," She pointed at the Earth.
"So don't look," said Meng. Behind him were gengineered wheat fields. They surrounded rustic houses made from asteroid brick. Microgravity-fattened birds dipped down to sieve the reservoir for food. Old men sat in fishing boats, smoking, bare chested, and bored. Children screamed and splashed on a shore younger than them.
"Just try to focus elsewhere. You'll get used to it."
"I can’t stop. Did you know that the glass is two meters thick?"
"Two meters thick where it connects with the hull. Towards the center," he pointed, "It goes down to just a meter."
"That's still quite thick. It’s graphene reinforced, So I don't understand why."
"It needs to be thick. That's leaded glass, it's keeping out the radiation. At High Earth Orbit you can't rely on the magnetosphere."
The Call to Prayer came from the mosque. It was right across the wheeled space station - half a kilometer by air. Diamondoid struts spanned the station's spokes on the giant wheel. People walked them like rope ladders across canyons.
"It seems silly to me. Why not just cover the station in regolith?" Suyin persisted. "Then they could have just mounted solar panels outside, and put artificial lights, inside. Easier - and cheaper. Isn't that the whole point with these refugee stations? They don't need to be nice, they need to be cost effective. Take that lake for instance. I love it, it's the ni
cest lake I've ever swam in. But why did they build a freaking lake?"
"It's not just to look pretty," said Meng. "The water serves as a heat sink, It helps to keep the interior from quickly becoming too hot or too cold. And underneath is an emergency radiation shelter. The water acts as additional shielding. Those giant windows," he pointed, "Are a much easier solution than converting sunlight into electricity and then back into light. Which, by the way, is actually incredibly inefficient."
"Do you study this stuff for fun?"
"Actually, it was in the tourist brochure."
Suyin scowled at him. Meng shrugged.
"Let's get on with the mission," she started walking back to the path. Their ride was a Russian golf cart with a BBC English accent. It would not start until they both had their seatbelts on.
"Get me to the Constabulary," Suyin told it.
Presently, an annoyed looking Russian man appeared on the golf cart’s main screen.
"Yes?"
"I am sorry to disturb you Mr. Sukhov, but do you have any news on our request for surveillance approval?"
"It still has to go through Geneva. The UNHCR has jurisdiction. They will probably want to run it through Interpol. Then it will need to go to a judge."
"But shouldn't this be a Russian decision? E2 is Russian built and Russian property. That's how it was five years ago."
"That was five years ago. Madam, the UNHCR has jurisdiction. It's only 3am over there right now. You will have to wait."
"Well, then - "
The screen went dead.
"How very rude!"
"Government workers," said Meng.
"Fuck it. There's only a thousand people on this station, We can learn whatever we need to, the old-fashioned way."
"Hitting people?" Meng looked uncomfortable.
"No, asking them!"
"This is a small town and we are outsiders. They're Uighers, They definitely won't want to talk to us."
"I worked with some informants when I was here last. There's one I can still go back to."
"He’s still reliable?"
"She."
The Hundred Gram Mission Page 22